The Empty House
by Zammie4eva
Summary: my version of what happened after Holmes returned from the dead. SherlockXWatson slash don't like don't read. my first Sherlock fic so be nice please
1. Chapter 1

It was in spring of 1894 that I had one of the biggest shocks of all my years of living and working with my friend Mister Sherlock Holmes. My life had been, admittedly, dull and sorrowful since the death of my greatest companion, he was on my mind almost constantly. My wife Mary had tried to understand what his loss had done to me, bless her, but she could not fathom the affect his death had had on me. She grew restless, impatient with my mourning, and as I grew less attentive to her, she claimed I cared more for Holmes than I did for her. Our marriage was unhappy for many months before her untimely death.

Mary's death also had a terrible effect me. I had not done right by her, like a good husband should, and forced her through an unhappy marriage until she died. The guilt was crushing me from both sides. I could not save Holmes from his fate, too late was I to realise his danger, and I let my wife die in misery, too succumbed with my grief to notice her slipping away. As far as I was concerned, I had kill them both.

It was a Thursday morning when the landlady handed me a letter from Mycroft Holmes of all people. Naturally I was more than a little puzzled of why the elder Holmes was contacting me, we had barely met. Inside the letter was, _Regnad ni era uoy. _

I sat for a long time in bemusement, it was clearly a code, but my mind was slack from lack of the daily stimulation I had grown used to getting from Holmes, with his puzzles and ridiculous riddles. Then it hit me. Holmes had educated me on many codes and ciphers, but the only one I'd managed to learn was mirror code. Mycroft was sending me a mirror code. I held up the message to a mirror, and sure enough to words became clear.

_You are in danger._

My blood froze.

I sprang at once to the windows, ducking low and lowering the blinds, sealing off the exits and entrances to the house. I burned the letter, and sat at my desk in the dark, thinking.

In danger? Me? From whom? I didn't doubt Mycroft, if he was aware of my danger, then it must be grave. Had he been keeping tabs on me? For what purpose, how could he know I was in danger?

I wondered if at this very moment I was being watched by someone. My skin began to crawl.

A knock at my study door sent me into cardiac arrest. I jolted violently, then paused to listen.

"Dr Watson? There's someone to see you sir," my landlady said.

"Tell whoever it is that I'm extremely busy at present Ms Turner, I shan't be seeing anyone today," I replied.

If whoever it was that was gunning for me thought I was so stupid as to let them through my door they were sadly mistaken.

"I'm afraid he's insisting sir," Ms Turner went on. "He claims he's the gentleman that bumped into you on the street today, he says he'd like to apologise for his behaviour,"

I narrowed my eyes. There had indeed been a man on the street today, he had knocked into me on the corner, dropping his books everywhere in the process. He had been gruff and in a hurry, snapping at me quickly before hurrying off with his books haphazardly in his arms. I had a feeling now that was no accident. I took my old revolver out of my desk draw and tucked in securely into my vest.

"Very well Ms Turner, show him in." I called standing up.

In tottered the old man, still carrying his many books, the door closed behind him and I'm not sure if it were my paranoid state but I swore I heard the lock click, putting me on full alert. My hand twitched towards my revolver.

"I must say it is good of you to allow me into your room while you are so busy Dr. Watson," he said.

"Not at all," I said pleasantly. "Would you care for a drink perhaps?"

"That would be grand indeed doctor,"

I turned around to face the drinks cabinet, then whirled around a moment later, ready to pull out my revolver, when to my surprise I saw Sherlock Holmes standing before me in the place of the old man.

"My dear Watson, it is good to see you've employed some level of caution over the years," he said, in that deep sombre voice I had heard so many times before.

He stretched, back groaning from being stooped for so long, and faced me, a small smile on his face. I barely remember anything other than the world going fuzzy, and suddenly being led to the settee by Holmes.

"My dear Watson I owe you a thousand apologies, I had no idea that you would be so affected."

"Holmes!" I exclaimed. "Holmes can it really be you?" I gripped him by the arms. "You are not a spirit at least, not a figment of the mind neither."

"I am as real as you old boy. Take a moment to compose yourself however, I won't have you in such a frenzied state. I fear I have shocked you deeply with my dramatic entrance."

"I'm fine, as fine as I could ever be." I replied. "Oh it's so good to see you Sherlock!"

I caught him in my arms, enveloping him in a tight embrace, which to my pleasure he returned whole-heartedly. I very rarely called him Sherlock, but his re-appearance after three long years was too powerful not to. I buried my head into the crook of his neck, and his arms tightened around me. I refused to weep, but I think even Holmes was on the verge of tears after we had ended our embrace.

"How did you survive?" I whispered, "Where have you been this whole time?"

"I am truly and deeply sorry John, many times over the last few years I have taken up a pen to write to you, before realising I couldn't. It was too dangerous. I have many dangerous enemies, since the death of Moriarty they have wanted revenge. They knew I had not fallen with their master, and I knew they'd seek me out. If I returned to London, I would be constantly looking over my shoulder, and sooner or later they'd find the perfect time to strike and I would be done for. The simplest solution therefore, was to die. In order for the world to believe my death, so too had you. I feared your sentimental nature would give away my secret had you knowledge of my survival, and such knowledge would so too put you at risk, for my enemies would surely hunt for you as well, something I could not risk."

"So where have you been hiding?" I asked.

"I have been travelling constantly, never stopping in one place for too long, and taking shelter with my brother for some time as well."

"Mycroft knew of your survival and I did not?" I asked, almost appalled.

"Forgive me Watson, but I knew my brother would not give me away even by accident, he's too much like me to make that kind of slip. It's not that I did not trust you I was trying to protect you."

I calmed down at this. "I...very well, I understand that yes."

"I know this is coming as a shock to you, and for that I apologise. I will tell you everything in due time, this I promise, but right now my priority is keeping you safe. You got my brother's letter I assume?"

I nodded. "From whom am I in danger from Holmes?"

"His name is Moran, Sebastian. The best marksman in England, once a soldier for Her Majesty's army in India, also Moriarty's hired gunman. He was as loyal to him as you have always been to me my dear Watson. We have been playing cat and mouse for the last three years, and finally I have returned to London. His sentinel saw me enter the city as I knew he would, alerting me to his presence."

"But why come back to London if you knew the danger?"

"The answer is a simple one. You."

"Me?" I blinked.

"Moran is gunning for you. He has targeted you and he made sure my brother knew about it, because he is laying a trap for me. He thinks by threatening you he will draw me out into the open where he will strike, and his plan is working perfectly. He knew as well as Moriarty that if you were in danger I would come. Three years and he's tired of games. I thought leaving you in the dark would protect you from this exact fate, I was mistaken."

I was rendered speechless.

"I came to see if you were safe. I must return to Baker Street and retrieve a few items, but I don't want to leave you here alone,"

"I should be able to manage," I said.

He look unsure for a moment. The concern that cross his face warmed my heart.

"Do not let anyone in Watson," he said.

"I won't." I promised.

"I should be as fast as I can," He stooped his back again, pulling on his disguise and leaving the room.

I re-locked the door and set about waiting for his return.

Not ten minutes later, a frantic knocking came at the door. I froze in my pacing.

"Dr Watson! Dr Watson!" Ms Turner called. "A man has collapsed on the floor!"

I stayed quiet. Holmes told me not to let anyone in. I could trust no one at this point.

"Dr Watson please! He's not breathing!"

I breathed out through my nose. What if it were an actual medical emergency? Could I, a doctor, stand by while a man died on my watch?

"Dr Watson! There's no pulse!"

I unlocked the door and dashed out. "Where is he Ms Turner?" I asked urgently.

"I...I'm sorry Dr Watson," she said tearfully, and before I could react someone jumped me from behind, pressing a cloth against my nose and mouth.

Breathing in the chemical on the cloth I quickly lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

When I awoke, my torso was bonded by tight ropes, securing me to a metal column. I was in a warehouse used for some kind of machinery storage as far as I could tell. Opening groggy eyes I spotted who I assumed to be Moran, speaking softly with another man before he went away, walking around the perimeter of the space, acting as a sentinel.

Moran moved towards me, a revolver in his hand.

"Ah Dr Watson, good to see you're awake," he said with a sickening smile.

"Who are you?" I asked, stalling the inhabitable. If there's one thing I've learned from accompanying Holmes, is that villains always love to monologue.

"Oh let's not play coy doctor, I know you know exactly who I am, and I know you've made contact with Holmes. Mister Holmes thinks he's clever, but he's not clever enough. In arriving at your home to protect you he simply led me to you, foolish man that he is. For one who scorns emotion he does let it control him an awful lot when it comes to his loyal dog."

I grit my teeth. "If you truly know him you should know that there is no way you'll leave this building unscathed."

"No doubt he will find me in due time, but by then you will be dead and my revenge half complete. My revenge will not be sated with the mere death of Sherlock Holmes no, I want to break him you see doctor, and taking away the most important thing to him will do that nicely."

I managed to bark out a bitter laugh. "You do not know him as well as you think, to believe that I am any more important to him than any other tool he uses in his work. I am his companion but have not been for many years, a companion who was unaware of his survival until this afternoon, and a disposable one at that. Do you imagine I matter to him given that information? Don't be a fool. Holmes knows better than to grow attached to anything for this exact reason. Killing me would prove pointless, he cares nothing for me."

"Oh? I think you're wrong doctor." Moran smirked. "Professor Moriarty thought differently. Why else would the slight threat to you cause Mister Holmes to fly from his hiding to London almost at once? You are as important to him as he is to you I have no doubt. Let us see what he will do without his loyal dog,"

He pointed the gun straight at my head, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the gunshot. But instead I heard the cocking of a revolver and a small gasp. I opened my eyes to to my joy I saw Holmes standing beside Moran, gun to his temple.

"You're not nearly as smart as you think Moran," Holmes stated. "Did you ever think that your plan was working because I allowed it to? You don't think I would be as careless as to walk into your trap and stand still do you?"

"But at least I was right on one account Mister Holmes." Moran smirked.

"Indeed you are, of that I cannot deny and shan't bother. You have exploited my one weakness and you will find me most disagreeable when you do that, you will be most sorry that you did. If you touch him I will kill you. Mercy is rarely in my vocabulary and if you dare _think_ of harming Watson I will pull this trigger without a blink. Shall we test whose reflexes are faster? I bet mine are."

The bullet that came next was unexpected, and as the metal ripped through me I slumped heavily against my bonds, the bullet from Holmes' gun going straight through the air behind him to hit the second shooter, Moran dropping his own gun and running for the door. Holmes blew sharply on a whistle and then rushed to me.

"Watson! Watson for God's sake tell me you're alright!" he cried frantically untying my bonds.

It was worth the wound. Worth all the wounds in the world to hear those words. A verbal conformation that he cared was all I needed to remind myself of why I loved him so dearly. I learned later the whistle was that of the police, and Lestrade had taken Moran into custody outside the warehouse, the second shooter lay injured and unable to move, groaning from the bullet wound in his leg. Parker, as I learned later, was not that good a shot as Moran, so the bullet he had fired at me only embedded itself into my shoulder, and as my bonds were cut I fell heavily against Holmes who seemed beside himself with worry.

"Watson? Are you alright? Please tell me that's not as serious as it looks," too frantic to even inspect the wound properly himself, it almost made me smile.

"It just graze my old wound, so it will be sore for many months, but nothing too serious," I winced.

"Oh thank God," Holmes sighed, his body slumping against mine as though the relief was so great he couldn't support his own weight any more.

"You're lucky indeed Parker," Holmes called. "For if you had of killed Watson I would not have hesitated to take the law into my own hands."


	3. Epilogue

I recall very little of the ride back to Baker Street. I was removing the bullet myself in our sitting room, when Holmes insisted he stitched the wound.

"I know my skills are not as good as yours, but it is an awkward angle for you to work at and it is my fault you received that wound, at least allow me to ease the pain," he had pleaded.

"Very well." I relented and handed him a needle and thread.

As he worked I sipped on brandy to ease the pain of the needle. "What do you mean it's all your fault?" I inquired.

A pain expression crossed over his face for a moment. "I knew exactly what I was doing when I left you. Moran had the upper hand, I couldn't beat him on those grounds."

"So you used me as bait?" I asked.

He winced. "I needed to draw him out. I needed him to feel confident in that he had gotten the better of me. He would be bold, and it would be the end of him. I waited until he had you, then I followed you, waiting for the perfect time to strike. You did a wonderful job in distracting him, it allowed me the perfect opportunity to emerge."

I was silent.

"Please forgive me." he murmured, not looking up from my wound.

I sighed. There was no point being angry with him in any case.

"I forgive you."

"You do? Truly?"

"I do." I assured.

"Does that mean you'll forgive me for being dead for three years?"

"Yes."

"You forgive me that easily?"

"Of course." I smiled. "Even if I wanted to be angry it would serve no purpose. You did what you had to do, then and tonight, and I understand that completely."

"You recall me saying to Moran that he had exploited my only weakness," Holmes looked up at me, and for a moment, all the emotions he held back shone in those dark eyes, allowing me to see inside his mind for a few seconds. It was rare when Holmes' expression was so open I could read every inch, and I loved that he only showed such vulnerability in my presence. "Do you know what I meant by that Watson?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea," I replied.

He smiled then, and swooped down, capturing my lips in a simple, but affectionate kiss.

"Does that mean you'll move back to Baker Street with me? I've lived without you for far long enough," he murmured.

"There was never any question," I replied.

He smiled, finishing off his stitching and dressing my wound with such tenderness I never believed him capable of. He didn't say it, as I knew he would not, but that was okay. Holmes had deep trouble expressing personal desires and feelings, but for people like I who knew him well enough to read between the thin lines, it was shown well enough that words were not necessary. I smiled back, comforted in the knowledge that he wouldn't be leaving my side again any time soon.


End file.
